Free The Fat Lady Sings by Charlie Lovett Page B

Dolly! rehearsal -- Suzanne agreed to consult with the light crew so she would know exactly what equipment is and isn't being used -- so I can't call either of them. So I decide to go to Dad's (where I'm still staying because of Mom's mysterious "trip") and talk to Karl, who at least knows the whole sordid history of me and Cynthia Pirelli after Saturday night's confession session. He's working at the hospital tonight, so he'll be home all afternoon.
    Luckily I'm walking home a half hour after classes have let out, but well before sports practices are over, so the journey is free of wolf whistles. I do my best not to think about Cynthia Pirelli and instead to concentrate on the fact that this time tomorrow I'll be walking home with a note from Mr. Dona-hue and tomorrow night I'll be at play practice in the world's sketchiest rehearsal hall.
    When I get home Cameron's car is parked outside, which is weird, because he didn't say anything about coming over. Now that I think about it, though, Cameron's been acting kind of weird all day. He's been quiet -- which is very strange for him.
    I step inside the front door and there, on the couch in the living room, is Cameron, sitting next to Karl. And it looks like Cameron is crying. And Karl has his hand on Cameron's shoulder. I'm just about to ask what the hell is going on when Dad grabs me by the elbow -- which I hate, I mean, come on, I'm not four -- and pulls me into the den, closing the door behind us. Now I'm mad because first of all, my best friend is talking to my -- well, my Karl, and I'm not allowed to be a part of it, and second of all, Dad is still holding on to my elbow.
    "What's going -- " I start, but Dad won't let me talk and cuts me off with this whisper he usually only uses when he's within a city block of Mom.
    "Cameron came out to his parents," he says.
    "Oh my god," I say. "How did it go?"
    "Not well, I gather," he says.
    "Then I need to talk to him," I say, yanking my elbow free. "He needs me."
    Dad steps in front of the door to stop me from going to Cameron, and that makes me even madder. I've gone from being treated like a toddler to being treated like a dog. "He needs to talk to Karl."
    "But -- "
    "He wants to talk to Karl, OK. Just give him a little time."
    "But Karl doesn't know Cameron. I know Cameron. He's my friend. And Karl is my -- " I want to say "confessor" or "counselor," but even as angry as I am I'm afraid that would hurt Dad, so I just say, "stepfather."
    "He's also a gay man -- and there are some things he understands better than you."
    And of course that makes perfect sense and suddenly I don't have the energy to be mad at Dad any more, I'm just hurt.
    It feels like Cameron and Karl have this special relationship that doesn't include me, that there is a kind of friend Cameron needs that I can never be. It also feels like I am not the only one who is special to Karl. So now I'm not mad, I'm just hurt -- hurt by both of them.
    I decide I have two options here. I can either fall sobbing into Dad's arms and let him see how much this hurts, in which case he would at least hug me for a few minutes, and some human contact would be nice right now. Or I can toss my hair and smile and say, "Gee, it's great Cameron has someone to talk to. I'm gonna go upstairs and get started on my homework, Dad -- right after I get some milk and cookies," and then go cry into my pillow for half an hour or so.
    Being a wimp, I opt for the milk and Oreos. Being a stressed out, upset, fat wimp, I take the whole package to my room.
    That night we have emergency movie night. Four of our ten cast members have some stomach bug that's going around, so Cameron cancelled rehearsal. Karl convinced Dad to let me go even though it's a school night and I'm still technically grounded, and I can't decide if he stood up for me because he knows I'm jealous about Cameron or because he thinks Cameron needs me there. Either way, Karl drives me over to Cameron's and I get there in time to hear